


Giving in to the Flesh: Rise of a Rebellion

by War_Disnei



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Age of Terror, Assassination Attempt(s), Exile, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jedi, Kinky, Mandalore, Phone Sex, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Rebuilding a life, Repressed Desires, Semi-Public Sex, Sex-Starved, Tatooine (Star Wars), painful wait
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 09:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16531874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/War_Disnei/pseuds/War_Disnei
Summary: In a post-Mustafar scenario where Satine survived Maul's assassination attempt, Palpatine still emerged victorious, Vader still rose from the ashes of Anakin and Obi-Wan is still being exiled to Tatooine. Now, however, the Duchess' survival opens new doors the guilt-ridden Negotiator might - just might - feel brave enough exploring.





	Giving in to the Flesh: Rise of a Rebellion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FS](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=FS).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shelf collapsed, dragging everything along and smashing all the objects it held on the ground.  
> Kenobi is in a limbo between nightmare and disbelieving trance.  
> Kenobi's cracked, like China barely surviving the shelf fall would be. Kenobi is ready to shatter. Kenobi is shattered. Kenobi is brave.

_Polis Massa, 19 BBY_

_Former_ General Kenobi paced nervously along the corridor of the cold, sterile facility where everything seemed to have risen and collapsed, like a nascent submarine volcano, in the span of very, very little time.

Just like he had lost his title - General - from a minute to the next due to the Republic being no more (not that he'd attempt earning it back in any way now, given the circumstances),

so had Palpatine gained his self-proclaimed Imperial one.

From the ashes of an apprentice he couldn't help loving - and yet whom he continually failed - the spectre of a New Galactic Order had emerged revealing itself for all its incubated supremacy, giving the whole "Chosen One" affair a twisted, morbose connotation.

Padmé had faded away only to miraculously make a flash recovery to push her twins, the twin heirs of a Son of the Force whose duality had catalyzed the very end of everything she believed in, out; only to slip away again - this time forever, eternally sealed by death.

So many drastic, dramatic, painful changes all at once.

Obi-Wan had held it together for an incredibly long time, but now that the adrenaline was fading and all he got left was pain, and the echoes of two crying infants reaching him across the corridor, all he wanted to do was _run_.

Yes, run, but where?

Yoda had already pronounced himself about the grim future that was expected of him. Nothing that went beyond a good Jedi's expectations, by the way, but something that felt like a huge burden in this moment of blurred lines and overwhelming emotions. Bail Organa, clearly shell-shocked through his regally mandated facade of dignified restraint, had shown the wrinkly green Master his support, grasping onto the silver lining of finally having a daughter he could call his. Otherwise, his eyes were dull like those of a man who's dead inside, promising with unfeeling, self-imposed ardor, to always confirm Obi-Wan's "death" to anyone who asked.

Tatooine...exile...Shmi's step-son...were all words that brushed Obi-Wan's bleeding soul, vaguely but inconfutably painting the picture of his remaining years - maybe decades. A future he had no say on, he reflected as he observed Yoda's Methuselah-like lips moving as he pronounced his prophecy, one Obi-Wan would accept - as he always had - with monastic submission. It was the news of Qui-Gon's spirit conveying messages, however, that shook him to his previously numbed senses. His entire life came rushing back at him: the sacrifices, the nos he'd had to say, the self-impositions as well as a significant restriction of self-determiation.

And Obi-Wan's pious, guilt-ridden resolve wavered. He had stood up, exited the conference room excusing himself with a demand for meditation time, and he had entered the long, metal-walled corridor, refusing any contact with the deepest part of the Force, abhorring - for the time being - any contact with Qui-Gon's ghost, like a rebellious teenager, very much aware of his own physical presence.

He reached the end of the corridor, Yoda's words echoing in his ears.

_"Cut yourself out from everyone, you must. Only companion for you, yourself is; yourself will be. No one, your position must know"_

Obi-Wan breathed heavily. He hadn't anticipated this violent reaction, one which went against his very spiritual essence - one he'd developed and honed after years of practicing being a Jedi. And yet, here he was, opposing what felt like "digging his own grave", the ultimate sacrifice anyone could ask of him. He felt the loneliest he'd ever felt in a lifetime, and this would have probably been enough to make him cave in... had it not been for _one exception_.

Without reflecting much on it, Obi-Wan force-opened the first door he found to his right, which turned out to be a dark storage closet full of disused droids, and sneaked in, as if staying there would somehow shield him from the tragedies and responsibilities which awaited outside - wishful thinking.

With a trembling hand, he took his comm-link and dialed the number of Duchess Satine.

He wasn't really expecting it, as she'd become cold and distant after the Republic occupation of Mandalore (he daren't imagine what would be of the System, now that the Republic had officially acquired  the guise of Empire) but the woman answered - voice-only - after just two rings.

"Hello?" she sounded haughty, pompous yet warmly accomodating.

"...Satine" he heard himself gasp.

Silence.

"..." he released an involuntary huff.

"I am happy to hear you. News are just arriving, one after another. Thank the Manda, you were thoughtful enough as to not make me worry for long, _this time_ "

Half-relieved, half-disapproving, that's how she was. It was enough for him to continue.

"Satine, I..." where to begin? Which burden would he begin saddling her with? Anakin's betrayal? Padmé's passing? The exile? He felt like there wasn't enough time. Yoda's Force-presence, Qui-Gon's, the baby twins' resonating cries, all signaled one thing: his "erasure" from the Galaxy was imminent.

Counter-intuitively, Obi-Wan let his passion wash away a tendril of his all-encompassing grief.

"...I _want_ you" he breathed out, barely recognizing his all-too-human voice.

"I want you in every way imaginable and possible"

Silence. Satine was taken aback. She weighed his words, sincerely surprised. Obi-Wan imagined her blushing, and pretty accurately so. Where she was, there was shining daylight.

Nothing, no pain, no sorrow, no impediment, no beaurocratic nurdle nor institutional position could ever cancel the love he felt for her. This reality was so striking that it pained him to admit it.

"Will you have me?" he gushed out, uncontrollably.

At the other end of the comm-link, on Mandalore, Satine felt herself stiffen. She was slightly confused by the timing of it all. With Mandalore - and now apparently the Republic, too - on fire, the last thing she would expect from a Jedi who had yet to honor his duty was a raw, explicit proposal for... forbidden abandon. Morally trodding upon him would have been all too easy (and an easy way out), yet Satine found herself responding in a completely different manner. Her own hand between the warmth of her thighs, she began rubbing her sensitive clitoris.

Words weren't needed. Obi-Wan's situation was dire, she could feel it. His "shortcomings" were instantly forgotten.

 "No, Obi-Wan, I won't have you..."

His heart skipped an ambiguous beat. She was denying herself to him - essentially depriving him of the only oxygen he got left - and yet her vaguely lusty tone got him hooked.

"...I _demand_ you"

 

 

 


End file.
